The relationship between practice and policy is fraught. When it comes to grading, devices, equity, choice, student behavior, and much else, there are yawning gaps between the views from inside and outside the schoolhouse. We mostly deal with this by talking past one another, with educators talking to other educators and policy types talking to other policy types. It seemed worth delving into this whole disconnect over a series of exchanges with a current practitioner. To that end, I reached out to Alex Baron, veteran administrator at E.L. Haynes public charter school in the District of Columbia, an Oxford Ph.D., and a former early-childhood and high school math teacher. Together, we’ll see if we can bridge a bit of the practice-policy chasm.
—Rick
Rick: Readers are familiar with my take and know that I approach these issues as someone who’s looking at schools from the outside-in. I mean, it’s not like I have much choice in the matter, given that I haven’t been in front of a K–12 classroom since the last century. Alex, obviously, you have a pretty different perspective. So, before we get started, do you want to give readers a sense of how you come at this whole practice-policy tension?
Alex: Within their classrooms, teachers are the ultimate policymaking authority. A teacher’s policies create a mini-world that runs as the teacher wishes society did. For example, class-entry policies reflect a teacher’s relation to order: Should students enter silently and start working or can students socialize until the bell? And grading policies reflect our sense of fairness: Should late work be accepted at all, lose 10 percent per day, or receive full credit as long as mastery is achieved? Teachers must communicate and practice these policies to showcase classroom values.
Relatedly, as a pre-K teacher, I likened myself to an economist. My students were brand new to school, so my policies signaled what behaviors had value: Sharing crayons made you socially rich, whereas fighting left you interpersonally penurious. Since the kids were school newbies and developmentally credulous, they essentially saw my systems as divinely ordained. But after pre-K, I taught math at Oxford while earning my Ph.D. and then in a Denver public high school, where students had much more varied views on my policies. This more contentious relationship between policymaker—i.e., teacher—and students helps frame the policy-practice tension we’re writing about in this series.
As I’ll argue, surface-level policy-practice tension often reflects deeper disagreement about schools’ purpose. People are clear that they disagree on issues like testing or discipline but miss how much those disagreements stem from fundamental dissent about what school is for. This unearthed division about schools’ purpose creates cross-talk and friction between policymakers and practitioners, which leaves the system less effective and more stressed than it should be.
Speaking of stressed, I worked in policy for Secretary Arne Duncan on Common Core, state Sen. Mike Johnston on rethinking Colorado’s charter authorization structure, and D.C. Mayor Muriel Bowser on discipline. Let’s use D.C. discipline policy to show how surface tension on an issue largely derives from subterranean dissent about the goals of education. Specifically, like many districts, D.C. prohibits suspension for willful defiance and promotes restorative justice. If we think a school’s primary function is to create an orderly environment for driven students to learn, then D.C. policy may seem misguided. But if we think schools should teach conflict resolution and build an all-inclusive community, then restorative justice may seem critical to achieving that purpose.
My point isn’t that one view is right; it’s that the policymaker-practitioner tension on each issue is partly mediated by our beliefs around schools’ purpose, which we don’t spend enough time discussing. I’m hoping we can explore that here.
Rick: So, you’ve begun to make the point that the practice-policy divide starts with the basic question of how we understand the job of public schools. You’ve suggested that it’s tough for us to decide how well schools or educators are doing because we’re not sure what they’re for. You want to explain more what you have in mind?
Alex: Again, for an institution as central as education, we have stunningly little agreement about what it’s for. Because we all attended school, we have strong views about its purpose; rarely, though, do we step back and realize how discordant those views are. Why does that matter beyond what I shared above? Well, one reason we hear the refrain schools are failing is that we’re unclear about what schools should be doing. To achieve success, we must first define it. In education, we not only lack shared vision but also often have irreconcilable goals.
This squishiness of purpose gives educators an unenviable and unviable mandate. Policymakers burden schools with a wildly expansive goal set, then we flog educators for failing to meet the bar. If we list the oft-cited purposes of education, we hear dueling priorities: prepare kids for the economy today but also for the economy of the future; cultivate civic virtue and patriotism but also critical thinking and skepticism; broadly survey the liberal arts to inspire lifelong learning but also emphasize STEM to boost global competitiveness; build socioemotional competencies but also create a focused academic environment; serve as a bastion of local community—think high school football teams—but also a breeder of global citizens; and so on. For practitioners, balancing this kaleidoscopic array of priorities is a grim game of Whac-A-Mole. Even if we nail a few of the above goals, we’d still be missing the majority. This leaves most people pissed off about practitioner performance most of the time.
Of course, an unstated but central priority is simply to crush standardized tests in reading and math. In D.C., 74 percent of our school evaluation rating derives from our math and ELA test scores. The rest is mostly absenteeism and reenrollment rates. Based on the list above, our ed. commentary may imply a variegated sense of schools’ purpose, but our school evaluation system is monochrome as could be.
So where does all that leave us, Rick? Do our evaluation systems reflect an underlying consensus that schools’ purpose is to drive literacy and math scores? Or are we just unsure what to prioritize or measure outside the three Rs? And a final charge for you: When advocates or policymakers lament the state of our schools, I’d ask for specificity. What exactly are we failing at? And which purpose should we de-emphasize to rebalance our efforts? Curious to hear your thoughts.
Rick: You tossed a lot out there! It should give readers a sense of what to expect and gives us a lot of fodder for future conversations. But a few quick thoughts in response. On evaluation systems, I was arguing two decades ago that one big problem with No Child Left Behind’s single-minded focus on reading and math was that it oriented schools exclusively toward what we could measure rather than on the things we deemed important. It’s the old saw about the drunk guy hunting for his keys under the streetlight: That’s not where he dropped him, it’s just where he can see what he’s doing. I think most parents and educators care about civics, character, and career skills—it’s just that these things aren’t so readily measured, so it can be easy for them to get lost in translation.
As for what we’re failing at? Well, when I see our National Assessment of Educational Progress scores in reading, math, history, or civics, I think we’re failing too many kids on teaching essential knowledge and developing critical skills. Given the rates of chronic absenteeism and the data on student misbehavior, I think we’re failing to instill important norms. Given what we’re seeing with cellphone use and student well-being, I think we’re failing to equip students for an evolving environment. Now, who exactly is failing here? Is it schools? Is it educators? Is it parents? Is it policymakers or community leaders or big tech? These are important questions, and I think the answers are complex and depend on one’s vantage point. That’s where this practitioner-policymaker disconnect looms so large. Which, come to think of it, is why we’re launching this conversation.
